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The Young Engineers in Nevada by Hancock

THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN NEVADA

or, Seeking Fortune on the Turn of a Pick

By

H. IRVING HANCOCK

CONTENTS

CHAPTERS I. Alf and His "Makings of Manhood" II. Trouble Brews on the Trail III. Jim's Army Appears IV. Sold Out for a Toy Bale! V. No Need to Work for Pennies VI. Tom Catches the "Nevada Fever" VII. Ready to Handle the Pick VIII. Jim Ferrers, Partner IX. Harry Does Some Pitching X. Tom's Fighting Blood Surges XI. Planning a New Move XII. New Owners File a Claim XIII. Jim Tries the New Way XIV. The Cook Learns a Lesson XV. Why Reade Wanted Gold XVI. The Man Who Made Good XVII. The Miners Who "Stuck" XVIII. The Goddess of Fortune Smiles Wistfully XIX. Harry's Signal of Distress XX. Tom Turns Doctor XXI. The Wolves on the Snow Crust XXII. Dolph Gage Fires His Shot XXIII. Tom Begins to Doubt His Eyes XXIV. Conclusion

CHAPTER I

ALF AND HIS "MAKINGS OF MANHOOD"

"Say, got the makings?"

"Eh?" inquired Tom Reade, glancing up in mild astonishment.

"Got the makings?" persisted the thin dough-faced lad of fourteen who had come into the tent.

"I believe we have the makings for supper, if you mean that you're hungry," Tom rejoined. "But you've just had your dinner."

"I know I have," replied the youngster. "That's why I want my smoke."

"Your wha-a-at?" insisted Tom. By this time light had begun to dawn upon the bronzed, athletic young engineer, but he preferred to pretend ignorance a little while longer.

"Say, don't you carry the makings?" demanded the boy.

"You'll have to be more explicit," Tom retorted. "Just what are you up to? What do you want anyway?"

"I want the makings for a cigarette," replied the boy, shifting uneasily to the other foot. "You said you'd pay me five dollars a month and find me in everything, didn't you?"

"Yes; everything that is necessary to living," Reade assented.

"Well, cigarettes are necessary to me," continued the boy.

"They are?" asked Tom, opening his eyes wider. "Why, how does that happen?"

"Just because I am a smoker," returned the boy, with a sickly grin.

"You are?" gasped Tom. "At your age? Why, you little wretch!"

"That's all right, but please don't go on stringing me," pleaded the younger American. "Just pass over the papers and the tobacco pouch, and I'll get busy. I'm suffering for a smoke."

"Then you have my heartfelt sympathy," Tom assured him. "I hate to see any boy with that low-down habit, and I'm glad that I'm not in position to be able to encourage you in it. How long have you been smoking, Drew?"

Alf Drew shifted once more on his feet.


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